


I Can Take Care Of Myself, Sweetie

by Cattycat1310



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Arguing, Bar Room Brawl, Bottom Tommy Shelby, Canon-Typical Gang Behavior, Choking, Come Swallowing, Eventual Smut, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Period-Typical Sexism, Protectiveness, Rough Sex, Top Alfie Solomons, horny as fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:35:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22899613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cattycat1310/pseuds/Cattycat1310
Summary: When Thomas Shelby caught word of the fight in the Garrison he thought nothing of it; crackheads and booze never did mix well, but you mixed them anyway and dealt with the consequences. However, when the familiar name Alfie Solomons was mentioned, well… that got his attention. One injured, pretty badly it turned out, but no fatal blows exchanged. Thank fuck, that meant Tommy could kill the aggro bastard himself.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Comments: 8
Kudos: 134





	1. Confrontation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [100dabbo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/100dabbo/gifts).



“You didn’t tell me you were coming to Birmingham, Alfie.” 

Thomas Shelby loomed in the darkened entrance to the Garrison, staring down the bruised man who lounged in a booth, across the room. Pub now deserted save for the two men, he was sprawled out like a drunk and smirking like one too. Coy fucker.  
He’d requested for the place to be cleared on the telephone not fifteen minutes before, for every other customer in the whole building to be dragged home before last orders. By order of the Peaky Blinders or by order of our heavenly father who art in Heaven- whatever Arthur was saying these days- he didn’t care ‘just get that place fucking emptied before I get there, I want him to myself.’

And as always, his orders had been followed because he was Thomas fucking Shelby and people did what he told them to.  
Funnily enough, the one person who wouldn’t do as he was told, or who physically couldn’t behave himself for five minutes, was looking at him right now with the glassy eyes of the devil, looking quite pleased with himself. Oh, was he wanted to wipe that smirk right off his face.

Sighing, he closed the distance between them in lengthy strides, running a smooth hand through his hair until he towered over Alfie. His stare was hard and his brow furrowed- trying his best to remain as enraged as possible, but he’d be lying if he said the crusted blood on the cheekbone and blackening eye of the man staring back at him didn’t make him want to put whoever did this in the ground.

“Came to surprise you didn’t I” he squinted up, flashing his teeth in a wonky smile, “all the way to this shit hole, just to see your pretty face, Tommy.”

Mr Shelby paused before sucking his teeth, closing his eyes slowly and drawing out a deep, frustrated breath like one with a blinding headache.  
“What were you thinking?”

“Hm?”

“I said what were you fucking thinking, Alfie!” He slammed his hand onto the table, but the man looking up at him didn’t flinch.  
“Waltzing into my pub, starting fights with men who wouldn’t think twice about dumping your body in the fucking gutter! I said what were you thinking?!”  
Face growing redder with every word he spat.

When the silence between them became palpable and heavy, he took the seat opposite Alfie avoiding his face. A rude response he was expecting, but to say nothing? Out of character to say the least, but admittedly it didn’t last for long until he brought his dirty hands up to rest on the table in front.  
Cracking his fingers leisurely, he locked eyes with Tommy before slurring, 

“I can take care of myself, Treacle.” 

“You certainly like to risk it though, ay?” He challenged, “For a man as intelligent as yourself you really do have a habit of fucking yourself over, without really thinking about the consequences, don’t you?”

“And what exactly are those consequences, Tommy? Little old me getting hurt?! Bullshit- since when did you give a flying fuck who I swing at? Ay? That is bullshit that is mate, absolute bullsHIT!”

“I don’t want you getting killed Alfie, its plain and simple,” He added “let alone in me own fucking pub.”

He leaned toward Tommy, bracing his elbows on the wooden slab, cocking his head to the side in a feigned attempt to look innocent. 

“Oh, I see.” The Cocky bastard, he mused  
“Since when does the great Thomas Shelby, of Shelby company limited and almighty leader of the fearless Peaky fucking Blinders, worry about mere bread making folk like myself?”  
He’d be lucky if he walked away tonight with just the one black eye at the rate he was going.

“Since you started ramming me into the fucking mattress every other weekend, Alfie.”

Wetting his lips with a swipe of his tongue, he stifled a smirk. Damn, he was livid, but staying mad at this piece of shit was harder than he could have ever imagined. To be honest, Alfie probably deserved that left hook, his witty tongue got him into too many of these situations. But when he heard that someone had been hurt- part of him knew whoever squared up to Alfie would have ended up worse off, but the part of him he couldn’t ignore, screamed at him to arrive as quickly as possible.  
Was he going soft? No, fuck that. But, did he just have a soft spot for the bearded cunt? That he couldn’t deny.

“Yeah and don’t you know it, Sweetie” he nodded, eyes casually sweeping over his torso, “makes me want to be careful, that body of yours Tom. Not with you mind, don’t have enough self control to be careful with you, do i.”

“For me?” the latter teased, raising a brow. “Would you stop trying to get killed in bar fights with Birmingham scum?”  
Fingers reaching for his collar, he slowly loosened his tie, and fiddled with the buttons exposing the pale skin beneath, deliberately, carefully.

“Mhm” Alfie narrowed his eyes, “ I’d certainly avoid conflict at lot…more, if it meant I could fuck you again. Maybe I’d even give up my lifestyle as a witty, vigilante.”  
He rubbed the pads of his fingers together, as if in deep consideration, all the while his eyes focused on Tommy’s neck, unmoving.

“Bold words Mr Solomons, bold words.” A pause, before countering “Would you give up your side business for me?”

A tut, “Now now, that’s unreasonable isn’t it?” he pondered whilst rubbing at his unkept beard.  
“But then again, where else am I gonna find a fuck as decent as yours ey? Hmm?”

“And is it decent?” Again he teased, still working at exposing his chest, but seemingly in no rush.

“Bloody heavenly, love.”

Nobody flusters Thomas Shelby, at least nobody does quite like that man could. His dirty tongue; his sinful words sent him straight to hell with a simple sentence. Was this a mere distraction to make his anger slip away? Probably. Although, this delicious manipulation didn’t seem to bother him, and his frustration was replaced with lust. And he revelled in it.

“You’re bleeding” Tommy noticed, as his reached his face lazily toward the other man’s lips over the table. He licked the blood from the corner of his mouth, and pressed his lips against him, kissing him roughly, earning a groan in response.

As he pulled away, a pair of rugged hands pulled him back, and inches away from his lips, whispered

“Take your fucking shirt off already.”


	2. Say That Again?

Those six words were like sweet jazz music to Tommy Shelby’s ears.  
And he obeyed, tossing his recently pressed shirt onto the dirty floor, before lunging at the man across the table, pressing their mouths together in a passionate kiss. Alfie returned the kiss with equal fervour, hands tightly gripping the back of his neck, pulling him closer. This goddamn table-  
Then, gone. Tommy swiftly pulled away, and slid from the booth, looking rather fucking mischievous. Looking down at Alfie, he pushed his hand through his hair and took his bottom lip between his teeth.

“How much, Mr Solomons?” he taunted, a look of seriousness passing across his features.

“How much what Tommy? Get the fuck back over here now-”

“Me” he sauntered slowly backwards, until his back rested against the bar.  
“How much do you want me?”

Alfie’s jaw fell open slightly and he let it, because fuck. He wanted him so fucking badly, that words couldn’t do it justice, but the cheek to tease him like that? Knowing fine well how badly he wanted to fuck him senseless? Cruel. No, merciless. 

Perhaps Mr Shelby was forgetting who wore the trousers in this relationship.

“You want me to show ya, Treacle?” rubbing his hands together slowly, he leant forward, practically leching at the shirtless man across the bar. 

“I want you to tell me.”

That man didn’t understand what he was getting himself into, but Alfie would play along- for a short while, before putting him in his rightful fucking place.

“Let me get this right? You want me, to tell you, how desperate I am to mess that perfect little body of yours up?” he proposed, cocking his head.

“You want me to tell you, how difficult it is to remain sitting here, instead of ripping off those fucking trousers?” 

Narrowing his eyes, and rubbing at his chin in thought, he added  
“Or maybe, you want me to tell you, Mr Shelby, how painfully turned on I am right now, and if your smart little mouth isn’t wrapped around my cock in the next, shall we say thirty seconds? Then I’m going to come over there” he gestured towards the bar “and make you scream my name so loud, that Ollie in Camden town will hear you.”

God, his words were filthy, and Tommy could feel himself growing hard from them alone. Then again, Alfie never did have a filter at the best of times, but these profanities filled with the promise of pleasure and sheer brutality? They’d make the whores in any brothel blush. 

They almost made him give up this game of wits and will power. Almost, but he didn’t. Not yet, after all the trouble that bastard had caused in his pub, the least he could do was beg for it a little. Despite, in usual circumstances being the other way around- Alfie Solomons was going to have to earn a shag tonight.

Almost making a dance of it, Tommy unbuckled his belt slowly, terribly slowly, never breaking eye contact for a second and slipped a hand cheekily below his waistband.  
The tension between them was suddenly extreme, tangible, as if this small act of defiance had crossed a line, into possibly dangerous territory. A tease, a goad, a naughty provoke- he deserved it. Tommy knew he deserved it, but that fiery glint in Alfie’s eyes promised that he’d regret this.

A pause. And then, a beckoning finger as he muttered

“Do as you’re told, Thomas.”

He’d be lying if he said the order didn’t go straight to his cock, but he’d also be lying if he said the thrill of disobeying Alfie didn’t make him feel lightheaded. In the best way possible.

As if weighing up his chances of winning a bet, he came to a visible decision and bracing both arms onto the bar behind him breathed  
“Make me.”

The man staring at him blinked slowly, his gaze making the hairs on the back of Tommy’s neck raise. Almost methodically, he rolled up the left sleeve of his shirt, and then the right, before grunting:

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that mate.”

As if by some compelling force of divinity or maybe utter impatience, he was on his feet striding toward the dark-haired cunt, and then wrapping his calloused fingers tightly around his throat.  
Pushing him hard against the counter, he attacked his mouth with sloppy kisses. Clutching at his thighs, he hoisted Tommy up onto the bar, legs wrapped around his waist, before sucking bruises onto his pale skin. His hand palmed over his cock, and grasping it harshly, a few tugs drawing high pitched moans from his mouth. 

“Say it again.” Alfie demanded, pumping his fist up and down the man’s length.

The only response was that of gasps of pure bliss and desperation, as suddenly the mighty Thomas Shelby was at the mercy of his rough hands and writhing beneath him like he always did eventually. He liked the way he could reduce a man of such status to a needy slut, liked the sounds he could draw from his swollen lips.

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought.”  
He practically growled into his neck, as he turned his attention to his own belt, swiftly unbuckling it with deft fingers exposing his stiff cock, unsurprisingly leaking from this hot mess in front of him. He allowed his head to fall back, as he slid his palm along his member, self-indulgent for a moment before kissing Tommy roughly once more. Tongue exploring every dip and crevice of the other man’s mouth, he returned to stroking him forcefully.

“A-Alfie I’m so close please-just fuck me now!”

“Oh yeah?” He quickened the pace of his hand, callously “who’s begging for it now?” 

The bratty bastard, he knew how to get a hard fuck when he wanted one, knew how to push the right buttons and tip Alfie over the edge.

Tommy whined at the lack of friction, as he pulled his hand away, and aligned himself with his entrance, the hard tip pressing against him. He stilled, in anticipation of pleasure, then Alfie thrust his entire length into the man at once, grazing his sweet spot, making him cry out in a broken wail.  
The hot tears that prickled his eyes rolled down his cheeks at the intensity as Alfie thrust in again, digging his nails hard into Tommy’s waist, making him moan in loud gasps. He started pounding into him in a steady, but powerful rhythm, and he let himself be consumed by the overwhelming pleasure.

“Fucking hell Treacle, ain’t you just tight tonight?” he groaned, continuing to rail the cheeky wanker relentlessly, slamming into his prostate again, and again- at the perfect angle. 

The way he whined Alfie’s name under his breathe between thrusts, the way his tight hole stretched around him taking his entire length so well- it was enough to believe heaven existed on earth. And Thomas Shelby was most definitely his salvation.

As they both drew closer to finishing, Tommy’s fingers dug and twisted into his curly hair, and he clung to his sweating body as if it was a lifeline, and he continued to be pounded.  
His strokes became sloppier as fatigue set in, but still thrust deeply enough to make the other man scream out his name one last time, before spilling himself onto his stomach, panting, tear stained eyes glazed over in utter bliss. As the waves of his orgasm began to fade, Alfie pulled out hastily.

“Get on your knees, sweetie” he ordered, clicking toward the ground. 

Pushing himself off the table, he obeyed, basking in the intense afterglow. His red lips parted almost instinctively and gazed up at Alfie pumping his cock in his fist. The waves of his orgasm hit him hard, earning a guttural groan in response, and his spoils spilled into the waiting mouth of his personal whore.  
Tommy swallowed it eagerly, smirking up at the spent man towering over him, licking his lips playfully. His scarred hand drifted down to swipe over his bottom lip as he sighed

“You’re a brat Tommy. And I fucking adore it.”

Picking himself up from the dusty floor, he took his lips with his own, before sauntering to pick up his shirt across the pub. He’d definitely feel this tomorrow.

“Now, do you want to tell me what happened tonight? Or do I have to get the account from the thug you glassed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao this is my first time writing smut, it was a lot harder for me than writing angst and fluff, but i tried so i hope you enjoyed it, thanks for reading :)


	3. Violence Isn't Exactly Out Of Character

#### Earlier in the evening

  
Alfie Solomons was sitting in the bar of the man he was fucking, listening to pointless conversations and frankly being bored out of his mind. Drink? Didn’t touch the stuff.

But this pub, he’d been led to believe, was the hotspot- the cornucopia of social interaction and murders out back that never got reported.  
The men that kick around here, they’re his kind of sorts: criminals, crooks, gangsters. You know, the kind of company he feels comfortable around, being at least one of the three if not more. 

Though, not that he’d ever admit it, no- Alfie Solomons was a _dignified gentleman that simply dabbled in the profession of criminals, crooks and gangsters_ but never would he consider himself anything of the sort.  
A rose among thorns if you like.

Why was he in The Garrison at all? Well, he had travelled all the way from his perfectly comfortable Camden Town residence to this smog-filled, god forsaken place to see Tommy Shelby of course. A cheeky fuck, bit of banter, then a bit more fucking? That was as much planning as he was willing to do, even though last week he’d been informed that big shot Mr Shelby was going to be in multiple consecutive meetings that were with “important people Alfie with valuable assets.”  
Bollocks, important people his arse, _the only valuable asset in this place was the fucking road out of it._ Still, he’d come all this way because he couldn’t wait any longer.

It had been two weeks, bordering on three, since Tommy had last made a trip down South and to say that Alfie was unusually tense was an understatement. He was unbelievable tense. 

Did that mean to say that Alfie hadn’t had some release since then, no of course he had he wasn’t a _fucking animal_. And usually that involved picturing the brunet displayed before him, bare and needy whilst having his hand down his trousers- but it wasn’t the same. Tommy’s hands, the warmth of his mouth, the way he was oh so obedient.. he was a craving that needed to be satiated often to put it politely and he was desperately in need of a dose.

After about an hour of idly sitting around, he glanced at his watch seeing that it was already half nine. He swore time moved slower when you were waiting for someone, and he toyed with the idea of waiting for Tommy at his house instead.

He was just about to leave when he overheard the words “Tommy” and “Shelby” from a neighbouring table and his interest was immediately piqued. 

Eavesdropping? No, but he was so riled up that even hearing the man’s name on somebody else’s tongue was enough to make him stop dead and stay a while longer. If this were any other evening maybe he would have left it alone, maybe he should have left it alone, but this wasn’t just a casual visit to Birmingham no, he was here on a mission to render Mr Shelby with the inability to walk tomorrow so naturally, he was in no mood to walk away. 

Grabbing a chair and sliding it over to the table with three men sat drinking gin, he straddled it swiftly and inserted himself quite forcefully into their conversation.

“What’s all this I keep hearing about this Shelby cunt?” he questioned, stroking his beard with only partly feigned curiosity.

They looked stupid, perhaps from the heavy intake of alcohol or maybe just from too many years of exposure to this shithole, and it took the men a solid minute to figure out that Alfie was referencing the conversation they were just having. They obviously clocked the out-of-town twang and doubted the information would get back to the man himself, so the larger of the two nodded toward him and indulged 

“Heard he’s been getting it on with that foxy secretary of his, and who can blame the guy!” he slurred, and the three of them erupted into tipsy laughter banging their fists on the table like thugs.

It was a struggle frankly, to stop the smugness that had settled in his stomach from reflecting on his face, and he swallowed. He wondered briefly what their reaction would be if he told them the only thing that that secretary did for Tommy, was arrange a car to bring him to Camden Town to get railed by the man sitting in front of them.  


But no, he couldn’t taint the reputation of a man known for cracking skulls and who has razorblades under his cap by exposing their little secret, that he obeyed every word that came out of Alfie’s mouth when they were growled against his neck—

He stopped his mind from wandering too far by muttering, 

“Ain’t that a little below his standards, don’t ya think?”

Looking slightly confused but interested none the less, they listened to him as he began one of his lengthy explanations,

“You see, the man seems to have too many options, too many women throwing themselves at his feet for a chance to just experience a glimpse of the real Thomas Shelby experience, which they will never get might I add. The man’s an enigma mate, that’s what makes him so desirable, but I doubt any woman can get close enough to ever know how he thinks, what fuels him, what breaks him.”  
Maybe he was indulging himself a little too far but he couldn’t help it and tapping his rings on the table, he continued,

“He’s far too busy building his fucking great empire to take a break from ruling the kingdom and give any woman the time of day.” 

They blinked at him slowly, maybe in confusion, maybe in straight up worry because they had no fucking clue what any of the words that Alfie had been spouting meant, or even why he was sitting there in the first place. After a few moments of silence, the bald man to his left began to laugh and slap him on the shoulder in geniality,  


“Well every man has his needs!” he roared in laughter in response.

Alfie smirked to himself, _indeed they fucking do_ and speaking of which, the conversation had expended itself by now and he glanced at his watch. He was getting fucking impatient.  
He wished that his Tommy would just waltz through that door any moment, tired with glassy eyes after his meeting and the rest of the bar would see a hard-working, ruthless man coming for a drink to ease the strain of a long day. But when he would spot the man he hadn’t seen for too long amongst the many bland, drunken faces of the pub, his lips would part slightly and Alfie would know just from the small shift in body language that he was absolutely gagging for it.

That was it- he couldn’t take it anymore, he was going to the office. He was going to stand outside the fucking office for an hour in Birmingham of all places, and he was going to wait for Mr Shelby to finally finish whatever the fuck was more important than him and when he finally showed up, carry the tosser all the way home, into bed and strip him off faster than you could say Camden Town.

Now that was what he wanted to do, however his plans differed slightly from the course of his actual actions that followed.  
As he rose to leave and hunt down his lover, one of the rowdy bastards chortled adding

“He seems to get more than enough of it like, maybe he’s more of a whore than her ay lads!” he sloshed the gin in his glass as he raised it in a toast, grinning like a fucking idiot at his companions as they laughed in response.

The words hit him at a strange angle and didn't register, so he stopped in his stride.  
_A whore they say?_ The word repeated itself to him over and over again, and if he wasn’t pissed off about the gossip circulating about Tommy’s “relationship” with Lizzy, that sure to have done it.

Something about the way the words sounded on another man’s drunken lips stirred something instinctive inside him that until then, he hadn’t quite realised was there.  
It made him want to tear that bastard limb from limb in front of everyone to see, and since impulsivity was an old friend anyway, its not like overreacting and resorting to violence was out of character. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t in the mood to throw a few punches because last time he fucking checked- and he checked quite recently actually- Alfie was the only man with the right to call Tommy Shelby a whore, and that was when he was _on his fucking knees._

So, he turned around with a new found calm and a grin stretched across his face, before he locked eyes with the broader man.  
Alfie’s sleeve was rolled up to his elbow and as he began to respond

“What are you fuck are you looki—”

And he swung his fist straight into his nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, i'm sorry this took a bit longer to upload but i hope you enjoyed the final chapter and thank you so much for the lovely comments I received, I hope this was satisfying enough :))

**Author's Note:**

> I don't write a lot but 100dabbo inspires me sooo i hope u liked iT lmao


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